


Chasing Darkness

by Val_Brown



Series: Preying On You [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Detectives, Crime AU, Descriptions of graphic violence, F/M, Gen, Graphic Violence, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Mostly Gen, Past Attempted Suicide, Psychics, Rape/Non-con Elements, Serial Killer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-17
Updated: 2016-01-17
Packaged: 2018-05-14 14:47:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5748490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Val_Brown/pseuds/Val_Brown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a serial killer out there and it's up to Detective Derek Hale and the Beacon Hills police department -- with some help from the FBI -- to stop them before one of their own is killed. Their only leads lie in the visions of two psychics, Lydia Martin and Stiles Stilinski.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chasing Darkness

**Author's Note:**

> First off. I want to thank Eey for the beta on this. It has literally been in my docs languishing away for like 3 years and it's been through 2 different fandoms before finding it's home here... second. I have a soundtrack that goes with this. [Here it is](http://8tracks.com/valress/chasing-darkness)
> 
> And thirdly(is that even a word? IDEC, I'm using it) I have tagged this as well as I can. There is rape/non-con elements in this and there is rape/non-con that happens off screen to the victims. It's talked about in passing, but not graphically. Now If I need to tag this more, PLEASE tell me. I do not want to trigger anyone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Beacon Hills, California_

The car pulled up alongside the curb, stopping next to the short blonde girl. 

“How much?” came a voice from the darkened interior.

“What you want? BJ’s are fifteen, fucking is forty,” she leaned her arm on the roof of the car to peer in the open window. “No buttfucking though. I don’t do that shit.”

“Get in.”

“Hey! Jonnie, I’m out. See ya back at the apartment, yah?” the girl yelled over her shoulder at a tall, dark haired girl standing against the brick wall.

“A’ight Carrie; be careful girl, you got it?”

“Yeah, yeah. Love you,” Carrie called as she climbed in the car slamming the door, her arm out the window waving into the night.

~  
_Seven Hours Later_

“What do we have?” Detective Derek Hale asked as he ducked under the police tape. 

“Female caucasian, between fifteen and nineteen years old. A woman walking her dog stumbled on the body this morning," the officer told him as he crouched down to peer at the body splayed on the grass. 

“Do we have any identification?” Derek asked as he reached for a pair of latex gloves.

“Nothing yet, but I’m going to run her picture and prints through the system, see if we can get a hit that way.”

“Okay.” Derek looked over at the medical examiner that had just arrived. “Dr. Tate, can I move her arm?”

“Have your guys got all the pictures they need?” Dr. Malia Tate asked as she looked back at her assistants pushing the gurney toward them. 

“Yeah pretty sure they do. You gonna take more back at the morgue?” Derek asked as he reached over and turned the corpse’s wrist over. Lifting his free hand, Derek snapped his fingers rapidly. “Hey! Tate, you got a camera in your case right?”

“Yeah, why?” Malia set her case on the ground so she could crouch next to Derek. “Oh, I see.” Pulling a fluorescent pink camera from her case, she gestured for Derek to turn the body’s arm slightly.

“She doesn’t look like an addict, but do you think it could be an overdose and body dump?” Derek asked as he peered at the two small puncture marks in the juncture of her elbow.

“These marks look strange. Not like any drug tracks I’ve seen. I won’t know anything until I get her back to the morgue and can take a peek inside.” Malia set her camera in the case and stood up. She beckoned to her assistants. “Liam, you and Mason bag her up and head back to the morgue. I’ll meet you there; I need to ask Detective Hale a few more questions before I leave.”

“Got it, boss.” 

“So Detective, on your own, huh?” Malia said with a smirk. “No baby sitters this time?”

“Fuck off,” Derek said as he shoved Malia, stopping suddenly. “Hey, who is that?”

“Who?”

Derek nodded at the man wringing his hands just past the police tape. “He wasn’t there when I got here.” Derek strode over to the man. “Excuse me, I’m Detective Hale. Did you know the victim?”

“I don’t know. I had a dream, but I take medication to help me sleep, so it could have been a nightmare. But I don’t think I slept last night. I don’t sleep well,” the man rambled as he snapped a rubber band on his wrist. 

“Okay.” Derek looked back at Malia and quirked his eyebrow. “Why don’t you come with me to the station, and we can talk more about this dream you think you might have had.”

The man nodded as he followed Derek toward his car.

“Tate, I’ll be down to see you in a few. I wanna talk to this guy first.”

“Sure Detective, be nice. He doesn’t seem all there, you know?” Malia said as she snapped the clasps shut on her case and headed to her car.

Derek just waved at Malia over his shoulder as he got in the driver's seat and headed for the precinct.

* * *

Derek pinched the bridge of his nose and set his pen on the desk. He’s spent the last forty five minutes trying to question the man he brought back from the crime scene. Instead he’s watching the man, Stiles, make a chain from the paper clips on Derek’s desk.

“Look, Mr. Stilinski...”

“Call me Stiles,” he said as he held the paper clip chain in the air, silently counting how many he had.

“Okay, _Stiles_ , can you please answer the question? What happened in the dream you say you had last night?”

“Dude, I told you. I can’t really remember much. Just the girl’s hair color and how scared her face looked,” Stiles said as he picked another paper clip up, his voice dropping to a whisper. “She looked so scared; she kept crying and begging to live. She kept calling for her mom.”

Derek sat back and watched Stiles attach more and more paper clips together as he took deep breaths like he was trying to compose himself. Rubbing his hand over his face, Derek realized there was no way this man was the person he was looking for. There was something almost childlike about him, but nothing that screamed _murderer_ to Derek. 

“Detective Hale! I hear you snagged yourself your very first murder,” a voice called across the office.

“That I did,” Derek called back as he turned back to Stiles, who had turned to look at where the voice came from. “Hey, Scott. Can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Sure. Hey Boyd, if Lydia comes in have her wait at my desk, yeah? She said she had something she needed to tell me when she called,” Scott hollered to a large, dark skinned man sitting at a pair of desks.

Derek led them to the coffee corner. Grabbing them both mugs, Derek poured coffee in each before handing one to Scott.

“Alright, Hale. What’s up?”

“See that guy at my desk? I picked him up at my scene this morning.” Derek took a drink of his coffee.

“And now?” Scott asked as he dumped sugar into his mug before grabbing the creamer from the fridge.

“At first, I thought he might have had something to do with it. But now, I don’t know. He seems lost.”

“What has he said?”

“He said he saw her last night. That he could see her crying and calling for her mom. But it’s almost like he doesn’t believe what he’s saying. Keeps telling me it had to be a dream, that it might be caused by the medication he takes to sleep.” Derek pushed his hair off his forehead.

“Sounds like when I first talked to Lydia. I think Lydia should talk to him. It might help,” Scott said as he gestured to where a woman in paint spattered jeans had just walked in. “Speaking of Lydia, there she is.”

Derek watched as Scott walked over to the woman and began talking to her. Derek walked back over to his desk and Stiles. Sitting in his chair, Derek saw that Stiles had finished his paper clip chain and started on a second one. 

“Stiles, if I asked you to talk to someone, would you?” Derek asked as Stiles looked up at him, the paper clips hanging between his fingers.

“Like a doctor?” Stiles’s voice was wary. “I’ve talked to doctors before and all they did was shove medication down my throat. Medication which did nothing except make me feel like I was trapped inside my head. Considering my problems were already in my head, all the medication did was make it worse.”

“No, like someone that might know what you’re dealing with.” Derek sat back in his chair and watched Stiles think it over. 

~

Benjamin Harrington was a twenty four year old accountant with very little free time. He sat at the corner of the bar nursing a draft beer and lamenting his lack of sex life. He was so inside his own head, he didn't notice the good looking man sit next to him.

“I haven’t seen you here before.”

Benjamin looked to his right and saw the source of the voice. “I’ve never been here before. I’m not usually much of a drinker. I’m Ben.”

“Hi Ben, I’m Adrian.”

~

_“Please, please don’t do this.”_

_A hand comes down hard, everything gets blurry._

_Muffled cries, blood on the ground, grass wet with rain._

_Cold blue eyes stare down at him. It starts raining again._

~

Stiles jolted awake, sweat soaking his sheets. Gulping air, he raised a shaking hand to his face, wiping tears away. He reached for his phone and hit speed dial number one. 

“Detective Hale. I--I think... I saw...” Stiles choked out as Derek tried to calm him. Taking a deep breath, Stiles tightened his grip on his phone and tried to explain what he saw.

~

_Scared green eyes looked up at him._

_Tears streaked his cheeks as he fought the cord around his throat, hands grabbing, fingers scratching._

_He could feel a laugh bubble up as the light faded from those green eyes, a dark, deep laugh as he pulled a knife out and set to work._

~

Lydia shot awake, scrambling out of her bed, barely making to the toilet as she emptied her stomach. Sitting back on her heels, her hands shook as she flushed the toilet and closed the lid. 

“Lyds?” A bleary voice said from the doorway. “You okay?”

Lydia looked up at her sister and shook her head. “No, I’m not, Ally.”

“A bad one?” Ally asked as she curled on the cold tile, wrapping her arms around Lydia, tucking her head against her shoulder. “You should call Scott.”

“I know, I will.” Lydia rested her head against the top of Ally’s.She hated being woken up by a vision, especially one that made her vomit. She hated it even more when she woke up Ally. Ally needed her rest, she still wasn’t healed, and she shouldn’t be walking without assistance. “You should go back to bed, Ally. You shouldn’t be on the cold floor; it’s not good for your back. Come on.”

Lydia helped Ally to her feet and they shuffled off to Ally’s room. 

“Call Scott, Lyds,” Ally said as Lydia turned to leave the room.

“I will, Ally. First thing in the morning, I promise.” Lydia left the door open slightly as she made her way back to her own bedroom, hoping she wouldn’t have another vision.

 

~

Derek pushed his hand through his hair as he looked down at the body in the grass. 

“Jesus Christ, this is sick,” Malia muttered as she crouched over the body, supervising as Liam and Mason carefully lifted the mutilated corpse, putting it inside the body bag. “His hands are bagged right, Liam? Maybe he scratched the fucker that did this.”

Liam nodded as Mason zipped the bag and they lifted it onto the stretcher, taking it toward the van.

“Jesus, Derek. Did you see what he did? He... fuck, he cut off the kid’s dick. The whole thing man, dick and balls, gone.” Malia stood up and pulled off her gloves. Rubbing her hand over her face, Malia looked down at Derek. “Christ, I haven’t seen anything like this before.”

“I haven’t either. I think I need some help.” Derek pulled his phone out, dialling with his thumb. “Scott, I need you and Boyd. This shit just got crazy.”

~

Scott and Boyd met Derek in Dr. Tate’s office. Dr. Tate was sitting at a table, surrounded by pictures.

“How did you get two bodies in a row? I thought Mahealani and Whitmore were up next,” Scott said as he walked in the room, Boyd right behind him.

“They got a robbery/murder at the same time, and I just happened to be in the bullpen when Argent got the call.” Derek glanced at his file and gestured toward the table. “I need your help.”

“What’s going on?” Boyd asked as he pulled up a stool and pulled a photo over so he could look at it as Dr. Tate stood up and opened a folder.

“All right, so first. Something extremely disturbing about today’s victim. It seems that whoever killed him not only strangled him and cut off his genitals, but they also stuffed a sock inside his anus. I have never seen anything like this before, and I’ve seen some messed up stuff,” Dr. Tate said as she passed Derek a file folder from the autopsy. “Second, I think this victim and the young girl Derek had earlier this week are connected.”

“What makes you think that?” Scott asked as he took a set of photos from Dr. Tate and perched on the corner of the table.

“This,” Dr. Tate pointed to an “X” shaped mark on side by side photos of both victims' necks. “I never would have noticed if Liam hadn’t said something. On the front of both victims' necks there is an area, here at the hollow of the throat, where the ligature the killer used crossed over itself as he pulled it tight. It crosses the same way on both vic’s.”

“Okay, other than that what makes you think the killings are related? I mean they aren’t the same gender, the girl was injected with something, and the man was mutilated,” Derek said as Dr. Tate shoved a stack of photos at him. 

“If they were both female, we wouldn’t have an issue connecting them. They were both strangled, sexually assaulted and sodomized. There is something else connecting the cases; the killer is escalating if Dr. Tate is right about them being related.” Boyd ran his palm over his head, and tapped a picture. “Look at the facial resemblance. This guy is going for similar looking people, just like a same gender killer would. Fuck, we need to talk to Argent. This is gonna get worse before it gets better.”

Derek nodded as he thanked Dr. Tate and followed Scott and Boyd out of the office. 

What if the connection was Stiles?

~

“Okay, so what do you have on the dead teenager, Hale?” Captain Chris Argent asked as he pushed a stack of papers to the side of his desk, looking at the trio of detectives in his office.

Derek pulled his notebook from his pocket. “Her name is Carrie Anne Simmons, seventeen years old. She’s a known prostitute and runaway. Her roommate, Jonnie, says she was last seen getting into a dark colored four door sedan the night before we found her body. According to Dr. Tate, she was raped, orally, vaginally and anally, before she was injected with what apparently was drain cleaner and then strangled.”

“Christ, alright,” Chris rubbed his hand over his face before he looked at Scott and Boyd. “Why are you guys involved?”

“It’s the second body. We... well we think they’re connected.” Scott handed Chris his file, while Boyd pulled out his notebook.

Chris opened the file and looked up at the three men with a slightly confused look on his face. “Explain this to me, Boyd, because what I’m looking at is a dead man, that you think is connected to Hale’s dead teenage girl.”

“Okay, I know it seems really far fetched, but just hear us out, Argent,” Boyd began as he flipped through his notes. “Our victim is Benjamin Harrington, twenty four years old. He was last seen at the Black Mamba lounge talking with a man that the bartender describes as good looking, with brown hair and possible tattoos on his arms.”

“All right, you still aren’t selling me on the connection, Boyd.”

“Listen, when he was found, it was on a slightly inclined embankment. He was found nude, with ligature marks on his neck. During the postmortem, Dr. Tate discovered that he was also raped orally and anally, before his genitals were removed and a sock was inserted in his anus.” Scott continued as Derek flipped through his files to find a picture of his victim. Derek pushed the photo of Carrie Anne across the desk so it was next to the photo of Benjamin and watched the recognition dawn on Chris’s face. 

“Christ, they could be siblings.”

“Exactly,” Boyd said as he closed his notebook and looked over at Scott, giving him a look.

Scott just nodded slightly and took a deep breath. “I got a call this morning from Lydia Martin. She had a bit of information to share.”

Chris sat back and nodded. “All right, what did she have to say?”

“She saw the crime in flashes, from the perp’s POV. She said it happened outside, and she didn’t see the sexual assault, but saw the murder and mutilation. She’s pretty messed up about it right now.” Scott sat back in his chair and drummed his fingers against his thigh. 

“Is she okay?” Chris asked, concern crossing his face for a moment. 

“Yeah, she’s all right. She was pretty shaken up. “ Scott brushed a hand over the side of his head.

“How’s Ally?” Chris asked, tapping his pen on the desk. “She’s up and walking now, isn’t she?”

“Yeah, that’s what Lyds said. Ally’s still pretty unsteady, but she’s getting better.” Scott rubbed his chin and looked up at Chris.

“Good,” Chris turned back to Derek. “So I hear you found yourself a psychic as well.”

“I guess, he... uh... he thinks he’s losing his mind. He sees these flashes, like pictures, sometimes. He says he’s seeing things from the victim’s POV.” Derek pulled his hat off and ran his hand over his hair. “He called me just before we got the call out on this one. He said he could feel what the victim felt.”

“Well, get your boy in here, Hale. Have him talk to Martin.” Chris reached for his phone, wordlessly letting them know they were dismissed.

“Scott?” Derek looked back at Scott and rubbed his nose.

“Yeah, I’ll call Lydia.” Scott pulled his phone out.

~

_Behavioral Science Division, Quantico, Virginia_

“Hey! Ratliff! Cook wants you in his office.”

Agent Tommy Ratliff got up from his desk and headed toward Supervisory Special Agent David Cook’s office. Knocking lightly, Tommy waited for Cook to call him inside.

“You wanted to see me,” Tommy said as he pushed the door open.

“Yeah, have a seat, Tommy.” David gestured to the empty chair across from his desk, as he opened a file folder. “I got a call from an old friend in Beacon Hills. He has a case he wants us to take a look at. His guys think they have a serial. Chris is a little more skeptical even though the similarities are striking. I want you and Lambert to head out to Beacon Hills and have a look.”

 

“Do you have a file on the victims? Something we can go over on the flight.” Tommy drummed his fingers on his thigh as he watched Cook slide a large accordion file across the desk. “This is it?”

“For now. According to Chris, his guys work with psychics. I know what you’re gonna say, Tommy. So just hear me out.” Cook looked up and held his hand out as Tommy rolled his eyes. “One of them has an excellent track record. She’s helped clear nearly twenty cases, all but the last one were murder cases.”

“What was the last one?” Tommy asked as he flipped through the file in his lap.

“It was a kidnapping. A girl was snatched from her home by an obsessed ex-boyfriend. Lydia Martin, the psychic, led the police to where the ex was keeping her. They were able to get her out safely, though it seems that a Detective Allison Martin was injured severely in the take down. There isn’t a lot here about it, but Detective Martin is on paid medical leave because of the injury and another detective was fired and brought up on charges for causing the injuries. According to Chris, the Detective that shot Detective Martin, a Detective Adrian Harris, has been charged, but is out on bail,” Cook said as he tapped a pen on the file in front of him. 

“Martin? Wait...” Tommy flipped through the files quickly. “Martin... Lydia and Allison Martin... The psychic and the detective are related?”

“Yeah, sisters. They‘ve always worked together. Martin was lucky enough to get Argent as her superior. Now, since Allison is no longer on the force, Lydia is working with Detectives McCall and Boyd,” Cook said as there was a knock on the office door. “Come in, Lambert.”

Special Agent Adam Lambert pushed the door open and entered the room with a slightly sheepish look. “Sorry I’m late. See, I set my alarm and...”

“Don’t even finish that sentence, Lambert. I honest to god do not want to know about your breakfast sex.” Cook said as he put his hand up as if to block the mental images from assaulting his brain.

“Come on, Cook. He was perfect, tiny, blond... bendy,” Adam’s eyes glazed over slightly as he thought about the man he dropped off on his way into the office. Fucked out and gorgeous.

“Not another word, Lambert, or else I’m sending you down to work with Mario.”

Adam’s face paled. “Okay, okay. No need to be cruel. I’m shutting up now.” 

Tommy bit his lip to keep from laughing out loud.

“Shut it, Tommy Joe.” Adam visibly shuddered. “I said hi to that guy like one time, and suddenly he thinks we're best friends or some shit.”

 _”He just really wants your dick,”_ Tommy muttered as he thumbed through his files.

“What?” Adam asked as he sat in the empty chair and took the large file Cook held out to him.

“Nothing, just talking to myself.” Tommy smirked down at his files.

“I hope you guys have a bag packed. You leave tonight for Beacon Hills.” Cook sat back in his chair and tapped his chin. “You know what. I think I want you to take Allen and Giraud with you. Just to be on the safe side. Argent doesn’t like outside help, so the fact that he called and asked is a huge thing. This may be bigger than any of us are anticipating.”

~

_Beacon Hills, California_

Jane pushed up from her recliner and carried her teacup to the kitchen. Setting it in the sink, she was surprised to hear someone knock on the front door. Pulling the tie of her bathrobe tight, she opened the door, the chain latched.

A handsome man in a maintenance uniform smiled at her as he explained there was a complaint that there was a water leak coming from her bathroom, and he needed to check it out.

Jane smiled and let the man inside.

~

_Gasping for air, hands clutched around nothing._

_Eyes bulging, tears streaking cheeks._

_Empty blue eyes watching the last gasps._

~

Stiles sat up gasping, his hands against his throat. Coughing roughly, Stiles rolled out of his bed and padded to the kitchen for a glass of water, grabbing his phone on the way.

Thumbing it open, he let his finger slide over Detective Hale’s number, sighing softly as he hit call.

“Detective?” Stiles sighed at the sleep rough voice on the other end of the phone. 

_”Stiles? What...”_ The voice suddenly sounded more awake. _”What did you see?”_

~

“Fucking Christ.” Derek said as he crossed the small apartment to the bathroom. “Do we have an ID?”

“Jane Elizabeth Billings, age sixty-four.” Scott crouched over the prone body. “This is going to sound really strange, but does this look familiar?”

Derek looked around the small bathroom. Jane’s body lay perpendicular to the bathtub, one foot resting on the edge, the other tucked under her knee. Her robe was open, exposing her nearly nude body, a pair of stockings tied tightly in a neat bow around her throat.

“Jesus,” Derek gasped as he looked at Scott, sure their faces held similar expressions. “We need Argent’s FBI guys.”

“Ask and you shall receive,” a voice said from the front door of the apartment. Derek turned around to see a group of men wearing dark suits. The one who spoke took a step inside, flipping his credentials open. “SSA Tommy Ratliff. I’m looking for a Detective Hale.”

“You can call me Derek,” Derek said stepping forward and extending his hand. “This is Detective Scott McCall.” He gestured behind him to where Scott was still crouched over the body.

“These guys with me are my partner SSA Adam Lambert, SSA Kris Allen and his partner SSA Matt Giraud.” Tommy gestured to the trio standing behind him, pointing at a tall dark haired man with intense blue eyes, a short brunet, and a tall, broad blond man. “So wanna share what’s going on? We were told you had what you thought were a series of murders that were somehow linked. What does this case have to do with the previous ones?” Tommy asked as he pulled his notebook from his pocket.

Derek looked at the body on the floor and took a deep breath. “All right, but we should head back to the station. Can your guys stay here with Scott?”

“Sure.” Tommy turned to talk to the men behind him, and Derek went to Scott. 

“I’m going back to the station with Agent Ratliff. You good here?” 

“Yeah, just gotta talk with Dr. Tate, then we’ll be on our way back,” Scott said as he scribbled notes.

“Okay, see you back at the station.” Derek waved at Tommy as he headed out the door.

~

“So, show me what you have.” Tommy pressed his palms to the long table covered in pictures and file folders.

“So a month ago I got a call out on a dead prostitute. Seventeen year old Carrie Anne Simmons,” Derek said as he handed Tommy a photo of the victim. “She was last seen getting into a dark colored car. Her body was found approximately seven hours later, nude on the side of a hill. She had been sexually assaulted. Orally, vaginally and anally. The pathologist, Dr. Malia Tate, found two puncture marks on the inside of her right elbow. After a preliminary test, it looks like drain cleaner was injected into her body either just before death or as she was dying. It pooled near the injection site instead of being circulated through her body.”

“So young,” Tommy murmured as he looked at the photograph. “Victim number two and why you think they’re connected.”

“Victim number two: Benjamin Harrington, age twenty-four. He was last seen alive on a Wednesday night, two weeks after the first victim was found, at the Black Mamba Lounge, talking to a man with brown hair and tattoos. He was found six hours later on a slight embankment, nude. He had been sexually assaulted, orally and anally. The killer used a sharp instrument of some sort and removed his genitals just before or right at the time of death. Dr. Tate found that the killer had also inserted a sock into the victim's rectum.” Derek handed a photograph to Tommy. Taking a deep breath, Derek thumbed through his notes laid out on the table.

“Connections between our victims, other than the uncanny physical resemblance.”

“The physical resemblance is one major link, the other is the method of death. Both were strangled with a ligature crossing over to the right side where it overlaps. The final link is the fact that they were both sexually assaulted. Now if they were both female or both male, we would be jumping on the link. Don’t look at the gender, look at the facts.” Derek looked at Tommy, waiting for the agent’s input.

“There seems to be another link you haven’t mentioned.” Tommy tapped the photo against his hand. “Have you noticed that each of your victims, including the one we walked in on, seems to have been killed in a manner that seems familiar?”

Derek looked down at his notes, glancing at the photographs from each scene. He looked up at Tommy as it hit him. “Copycat. Scott pointed it out to me at the last crime scene.”

Tommy nodded. “Tell me who each is.”

Derek slid Carrie’s photo across the table. “Hillside Strangler.” Benjamin’s was next. “Randy Kraft. And the last victim, Jane Billings. Boston Strangler.”

“Yes, they’re linked. Not only in the methods, but in that they’re being carried out by a killer that is emulating serial killers. Was there physical evidence left by the killer? Hair, fluids, anything?” Tommy asked as he flipped through his files, stopping suddenly at a photograph he couldn't remember seeing before. Holding it up to Derek, he asked, ”Do you recognize this woman?”

“Yeah, that’s Lydia Martin. She’s one of the psychic’s we’re working with.” 

“One of them? You’re working with more than one?”

“Yeah, um... the other one, he’s...” Derek ran his hand through his hair. How does one go about explaining Stiles? “He gets visions, but he’s afraid they mean he’s going crazy.” Derek thought back to when Stiles tried to explain what was going on inside his head.

_  
“I’ve always gotten these images. They started getting really bad when I was about fourteen. That was when they started me on the medication. It’s like these pictures, a slideshow that I can’t stop. No matter how many drugs I take, no matter how little I sleep, they’re always there.” Stiles taps his temple. “Inside my head.”_

_Derek opened and quickly closed his mouth. He had no idea what to say. What do you say when someone tells you something like that?_

_“They always told me I had an overactive imagination, said I needed to stop making things up. But I knew I wasn’t making things up. I knew what I was seeing was real, but they kept telling me it was all in my head. Until one day, it was just easier to sleep. I hoped that I could just sleep and my head would be quiet.” Stiles looked down at his feet and ran his hand over the top of his hair. “It was just so simple. Take the pills and the pictures would stop. It didn’t exactly work that way.”_

_Derek couldn’t help but reach a hand out and softly touch Stiles’s hand, thumb caressing Stiles’s knuckles. Stiles looked over, his eyes sad as he shrugged and gave Derek a half smile as he flipped his hand over and interlaced their fingers._

~

Derek watched the door like a hawk. He had called Stiles to have him come in to meet Tommy and the other agents. 

“How’s Ally doing? She’s still in PT, right?” Derek asked as he handed Scott a cup of coffee and sat across the desk from him.

“Yeah, she’s getting stronger. She can walk without assistance now, so that’s a good thing.” Scott took a drink and suddenly snarled and slammed his cup on the desk. “What the **fuck** is he doing here?!”

Derek turned around to watch a tall man walk through the room. “Scott, don’t do anything stupid.”

“Oh you mean don’t shoot him in the back like he did to Ally?” Scott growled as he fisted his hands against the top of his desk. Derek could see his fingers twitching to reach for his gun. 

“Hey ya, Scottie, Derek. How’re you guys doing today?”

“Fuck off, Harris.” Scott surged to his feet; the only thing keeping him from reaching for his gun was Derek standing between them.

“Aww, Scottie. Why’re you being such a bitch? We used to be such _close_ friends,” Harris said with a leer. 

“You have some serious balls showing your face in here, man. Pretty sure that even Argent wants to shoot you,” Derek said, his voice icy.

“You wanna shoot me, Hale?” Harris sneered as he stepped closer to Derek.

“You step any closer to my detectives, and I will put a bullet in the back of your head.”

Harris turned around with a raised eyebrow. “Hello, Chris.”

“Why are you in my squad room?” Chris asked as he leaned against his open door, his arms crossed over his chest.

“Just came by to see how my former co-workers were doing.”

“We’re fine, you can leave.” Boyd said as he loomed up out of the coffee room, a cup of coffee in his hand.

Harris raised his hands and turned to leave. Stopping at the open door he turned back momentarily. “How’s Ally?”

“She can still walk. Your aim is shit.”

“Well, well. Ms. Martin. How are you doing?” Harris’s voice slipped lower. His eyes raked over Stiles, who was standing next to Lydia. “Oh, who’s your friend?”

“Kindly fuck off, before I throw you down the stairs.” Lydia pushed past Harris, her hand tight around Stiles’s wrist, dragging him through the door.

“You have thirty seconds to leave this station. If you’re still here when time is up, I will have you physically removed,” Chris said with a scowl.

“Everything okay out here?” Tommy asked as he stepped out of the conference room.

“Yeah, he’s just leaving. Before I help him down the stairs,” Boyd said as he walked into the conference room with his files and coffee.

Everyone moved toward the conference room, not noticing the long look Harris gave to Lydia’s retreating back.

~

“SSA Ratliff, this is Stiles Stilinski, one of our psychics.” Derek gave Stiles a small push forward.

“Nice to meet you, this is SSA Adam Lambert.” Tommy shook Stiles’s outstretched hand and gestured to Adam, then behind him at Kris and Adrian. “Behind him are SSA Kris Allen and SSA Matt Giraud.”

“Nice to meet you all,” Stiles said as he sat down, allowing Lydia to introduce herself to the agents. 

Derek sat in the chair next to Stiles and placed a hand on his forearm, squeezing softly. Stiles smiled softly as Derek leaned closer.

“Just be honest about what you see when he asks, okay?”

Stiles nodded and watched as the group of FBI agents moved to the front of the room. Tommy opened up the file in his hands before addressing the room.

“Three victims, that otherwise have no connection, are connected by this killer. We have to find out why. Our job is to assist you in the search, not to take over.” Tommy stepped back to the large dry erase board to pin up a couple of pictures of the victims. 

“Derek, can you fill the rest of us in on what you’ve found out?” Chris said from the back of the room.

Derek nodded and stood, walking to the front and laying out all the evidence they had on each victim. As he was finishing he looked over to Stiles who had gone pale, his eyes had an empty look, his hands clenched into fists. 

“Stiles?” 

The room turned to look at Stiles. Stiles went rigid, his breathing shallow.

Derek rushed to Stiles, sliding to his knees. “Stiles?!”

“He’s seeing something,” Lydia said softly from her seat at the table. Her fingers tapped an erratic beat against the table. 

__

_He’s handsome, not enough that it’s off putting, but enough that she feels at ease._

_He says he’s lost, can she help him out._

_He’s on crutches, he can’t get around that well._

_She’s more than happy to help him._

_Nodding, she leads the way to her car._

_She smiles as she opens the door for him and takes his crutches._

_~_

_He carefully wraps his ankle and slides the boot on._

_He’s still able to move quickly, but it’s enough to set someone at ease._

_She’s walking across the parking lot, her dark red hair catching on the tiny tilt of her nose._

_He intentionally stumbles, catching her attention._

_She agrees to help him, leading him to her car._

_He smirks as she opens the door for him._

_She’s perfect._

~

Everyone looked at Lydia as she stared blankly at the table, her fingers still tapping. Stiles suddenly gasped a huge breath of air and looked wildly around the room. 

“He said he needed help, she was helping him. She’s next, he’s going to hurt her,” Stiles gasped as he clutched at his hands.

Derek wrapped his arms around Stiles, holding him tight. Lydia coughed as she sat up straighter.

“He’s using a ruse, he knows that they would be wary if he just approached them with no reason. But if he’s injured, they will be easier to manipulate.” Lydia looked at Scott. “He’s going to take his time with this one.”

“Wait, you mean he hasn’t taken her yet?” Tommy asked as he stared at both Lydia and Stiles.

“Not yet. But soon,” Lydia said as she fiddled with the zipper on her jacket.

Tommy exhaled, frustrated. They all were. Stiles looked like he was going to be sick, Derek close, one hand rubbing the back of Stiles’s neck. Scott, with his hand on Lydia’s shoulder, Boyd and Chris hovering close by. 

“Is there anything either of you can remember specifically from the visions? Any identifying markers or street signs?” Chris asked as he paced in front of the dry erase board. “Do we have a description on either the victim or the perpetrator?”

“She’s small, maybe five feet three inches tall, long red hair, hazel green eyes. That’s all I could get. Everything else is blurry, or flashed by too quickly,” Lydia said as she tugged at the front of her hair before pushing it behind her ear.

Derek turned to Stiles. “What about you?”

“Just flashes, it was bright out, so maybe it happens during the day? It was mainly talking.” Stiles took a deep breath. “It wasn’t like the last time.” 

They all looked at each other. There was nothing they could do except wait. Wait for a body to show up. None of them were very good at waiting.

~

She tightened her grip on the strap of her bag as she walked across the parking lot to her car. She was nearly to her vehicle when she heard someone call out to her. She turned around to see a man struggling on crutches.

“I’m so sorry to bother you, but I’m lost. I’m trying to find Northside Park,” the man said as he stumbled.

“Oh, you’re on the entirely wrong side of town.”

“Damn, I’m supposed to meet someone over there and I can’t drive,” he said, gesturing to his foot.

“Well...” She ran her hand through her hair as she blew out a puff of air. “I can take you. I have to head that direction anyway.”

“Thank you so much, miss?” 

“My name is Sharon,” she said as she opened the passenger side door for him.

“Thank you, Sharon. I’m Adrian.”

~

It had been one week since twenty year old Sharon Manning had gone missing. From the moment they got the call, Derek knew it was their guy. Now that he was standing over the nude, decomposing body, he was sure. 

“Ted Bundy,” a voice said from behind him.

Derek just nodded and turned to face the rest of the guys. Tommy stepped carefully as he made his way over to where Derek was standing. 

“He’s playing with us. Why is the question. Is there a reason he’s doing this, other than the fact that he likes it?” Tommy looked back at Adam who was conversing with Dr. Tate and Scott. Boyd was with Kris and Matt, talking to the crime scene investigators. “There has to be another link between the victims and the killer. A reason he would choose them. We already know they look alike. What is it?”

Derek shook his head and looked down at the body. “Not a damn clue, Tommy. Not a damn clue.”

~

Everyone was crowded in the conference room, a box of donuts in the middle of the table and steaming cups of coffee in front of everybody.

“Okay, so we have four victims. Each killed in a manner to emulate a serial killer.” Tommy stood up and moved to the board covered in pictures and note cards. “Victim one, Carrie Anne Simmons, age seventeen.” He added a sticky note to the bottom of her photograph that simply said _Hillside Strangler_

Derek moved around to the board. “Victim two, Benjamin Harrington, age twenty four.” He stuck a note on the corner. _Randy Kraft_.

“Victim three, Jane Elizabeth Billings, age sixty-four.” Tommy added a note to her photo. _Boston Strangler_.

“Victim four, Sharon Manning, age twenty.” Derek placed a note on her photo. _Ted Bundy_.

“If he’s escalating, he’s going about it strangely. Why pull a Kraft, which was messy at best, after Hillside and before Boston? Both of those were _clean_ killings, so to speak,” Giraud said from his seat at the end of the table. 

“There is no pattern to the killers he’s emulating, so we won’t know who he is going to copy next.” Kris sat back and picked at a donut. “We need to figure out why he’s choosing the type of victims he has. There has to be a reason.”

“Hey, guys. Is Argent in here?”

“Hey, Ally!” Scott hopped up from his chair and wrapped his arms around the woman in the doorway. “Look at you, walking and shit.”

“How’re you doing? You look good,” Boyd called from his seat, leaving Scott to hang on Ally.

“McCall, get off her.” Chris pulled Scott off Ally. “You see her nearly everyday. How you doing, Martin?” Chris’s voice was soft. “We miss you.”

“I miss you guys too. I’m getting there. Walking is hard.” Ally laughed lightly as she slid into an empty chair, her cane resting against the wall. She looked around the room and waved. “Hi, people I don’t know.”

“Ally, these are SSAs Ratliff, Lambert, Allen, and Giraud. They’re here to help with our serial.” Scott gestured to the note covered walls.

“Has anyone noticed that your victims look a fuckton like my sister?” Ally asked as she struggled to her feet and hobbled over to peer closer at the pictures. “Look, here.” She pointed at the jawline, the structure of the nose. “What color are their eyes?”

Adam flipped through the file of notes he had. “Hazel-green, it looks like.”

“Seriously guys, they look like my sister. Do you have a picture somewhere? Scottie?” Ally asked as she leaned hard against her cane. 

“Your sister...” Tommy rushed to his files, flipping through the pages to find the picture he had asked Derek about. “This! This was in my files.” Tommy tacked the picture of Lydia on the board next to the victims and the room went silent.

“Jesus Christ,” Chris said as he audibly fell into a chair.

They all stared at the board. The resemblance was striking. 

Ally turned to face the room, leaning heavily on her cane. “Whoever this is hates my sister.”

~

Derek set his glass on the table and turned to face Stiles. “You need to sleep. You look like hell.”

“I can’t. When I sleep, I have nightmares. Even when I take my medicine, they come.” Stiles closed his eyes, his voice small. “Sometimes I think I shouldn’t have woken up. Then I wouldn’t be feeling like this. Like I’m losing my mind.”

“Hey,” Derek moved so he was sitting closer to Stiles. Close enough to slide his arm across Stiles’s shoulders and draw him close. “You aren’t losing your mind.”

“It sure as hell feels like it. I can’t sleep; when I do I see people hurting, I see death. I don’t want this.” Stiles closed his eyes and let his head fall to Derek’s shoulder, a sad smile on his face. “I just never should have woken up that night. It would be better.”

“Hey, no! Don’t say that,” Derek said as he turned Stiles’s face so they were looking in each other's eyes. He didn’t even think as he leaned forward and pressed his lips to the corner of Stiles’s mouth. He didn’t break eye contact as he whispered, “I’m glad you woke up.”

~

“No, don’t worry about that. We can talk more tonight when I get off.” Derek spun his pen between his fingers as he listened to the other voice. “It’s fine, Stiles. I’ll see you at dinner, okay?”

Derek didn’t notice as Boyd stopped next to his desk, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “Yeah, Stiles. You too.” Derek hung up the phone and startled as he saw Boyd leaning a hip on the corner of his desk. 

“You and Stiles have gotten pretty close over the last few months haven’t you?”

“We’re friends.” Derek set his jaw and looked up at Boyd. 

“Are you friends or _friends_?” Boyd asked softly. “I only ask because I worry. I don’t want to see you get hurt or see this hurt our case at all. It’s not fair to the victims and it’s not fair to Stiles, or you.”

“I... We...” Derek ran his hand through his hair. “I care about him, Boyd. I don’t know what that means in regards to our friendship. I just know that I feel better when he feels better, when he feels safe. He feels safe with me.”

Boyd stood up and knocked his knuckles on Derek’s desk. “Just be careful, Derek, okay?”

Derek nodded and watched Boyd walk over to his desk where SSA Allen was scribbling notes.

~

“We’ve been chasing this guy for nearly four months. SSA Ratliff called last week to let me know they will be back to see us early next week. They’re hoping they have some results for us from those samples Dr. Tate found on victim three,” Chris said as he clicked the end of his pen. He looked around the room at his detectives. “Have Stiles or Lydia had any visions recently?”

“Not Lydia, or if she has, she hasn’t said anything to me about them. She’s been busy working on a commission and helping Ally with rehab,” Scott piped up from his seat.

“What about Stiles? Derek?” Chris asked as he turned to look at Derek.

“He hasn’t seen anything at all. He also hasn’t slept properly in three days,” Derek said, the edge of anger on his voice. He had tried to get Stiles to sleep. It was hard when the man was terrified to close his eyes, the fear of watching someone die keeping him awake. 

Boyd put a reassuring hand on Derek’s shoulder. “He’s doing okay, right?”

“Yeah, he’s just exhausted and scared.” Derek ran his hand over his face. He wasn't trying to hide his relationship with Stiles anymore. Not like he could have anyway, with the constant phone calls and going to Stiles’s after work. Scott sniffed it out not long after Boyd talked to him. No one cared, as long as it didn’t interfere with the case or any other aspect of the job. Derek was determined to keep it relatively platonic, at least until the case was over.

~

_*thud...thud...thud*_

Jacob pulled his bag tighter against his side, speeding up, crossing the darkened street to his apartment building. Jacob was sure he heard something scraping against the rough concrete, right at the edge of his hearing. When he stopped to listen, there was only silence.

“Don’t be a fucking wuss,” he said out loud as he reached into his pocket to get his keys. 

Looking down at his hand, he felt someone grab his chin, pulling his head up and to the left. Throwing his right hand back over his shoulder, he hit flesh with his keys, causing the person behind him to curse loudly. Before he could do it a second time, there was a cold line across the front of his throat. Reaching up to his neck with his left hand he felt something warm and wet against his fingers. Bringing his hand to his face he stared at his blood covered fingertips. Gasping for air, he felt his knees buckle as the concrete rushed up to meet his face. He felt the blood flowing as he gurgled around the last bits of air in his lungs. Rough hands rolled him over onto his back. He stared up at the dark sky, wheezing, as tears spilled down his face.

The last image he saw as everything went black was cold blue eyes staring down at him.

~  
_  
Warm, wet. Skin slick with blood._

_A knife slicing, hands pulling, blood everywhere._

_Carefully arranging, fingers tapping in the pooling blood, playing in it._

_A deep chuckle resonates in the night._

~

Stiles shot up with a scream as he scrambled from the bed, half crawling, half running to the bathroom as he tried not to vomit. Hunched over the toilet bowl, he cried as he vomited, choking as he tried to breathe. 

“D...Derek!!” Stiles cried as he wrapped his arms around the base of the toilet. “Derek!”

He screamed until he was hoarse, before he remembered that Derek wasn’t there, that he had left after he put Stiles to bed. Crying, Stiles crawled back to his room to grab his phone. Curled in the corner wrapped in his blanket, he called Derek.

~

Derek rushed through Stiles’s house. Slamming through his bedroom door, he found Stiles curled into a fetal position in the corner. 

“Stiles?” Derek said softly as he crept closer. “Stiles? Talk to me, please.”

“D’rek? Tha’ you?” Stiles slurred, his face puffy and red as he peered out of his blanket. Seeing Derek, Stiles threw his blanket off and crawled across the floor to curl into Derek’s arms. “You weren’t here, I didn’t know what to do. All I saw was blood, it was everywhere. All over his hands, the ground. He had his hands _inside_ the body. He... he was _playing_ in the blood.”

Derek tugged Stiles to his feet and helped him back to his bed. Kicking off his shoes, Derek crawled in next to him, pulling him close, wrapping both arms tightly around Stiles' shaking body. 

“It’s okay, it’s gonna be okay. I’m not leaving you, not again,” Derek whispered as Stiles snuffled against his chest. 

“Promise?” Stiles said sleepily, his hand curling into Derek’s shirt. “You won’t leave me? They always leave me.”

“Never going to leave you,” Derek said as he pressed a kiss to Stiles’s forehead. “I promise.”

~

“Fuck,” Scott said as they came upon the tarp covered body. Blood covered a ten foot area around it. 

Derek tugged on a pair of latex gloves as he moved closer to the body. Pulling the corner of the tarp up, he paled. “Jesus, Scott. Look at what he did.”

Scott crouched next to Derek and blew out a rush of air. “Fuck, this is... I have never seen anything like this. Is this a copy of Jack The Ripper?”

Dropping the tarp, Derek turned to Scott. “Did Lydia see this?”

“I don’t know. She didn’t say anything about it this morning at breakfast.” Scott stood up and pulled his gloves off. “Stiles saw it, didn’t he?”

“Yeah, it was bad. He was a mess by the time I got to his place,” Derek said as he caught sight of a set of keys outside of the blood surrounding the body. “Scott, grab me a fresh set of gloves and an evidence bag.”

Pulling off his contaminated gloves, Derek switched them for clean ones and grabbed a camera and evidence markers and took pictures of the keys as they lay on the sidewalk, approximately eighteen inches from the victim’s outstretched hand. Derek picked up the keys.

“Scott, does this look like blood?” Derek asked as he held his hand out, keys flat on his palm as he pointed at the tip of one of the keys. “Do you think he got a piece of our guy?”

“It looks like it. One of the techs should get a sample of that so we can send it off to Tommy and the others to get it tested.” Scott held the evidence bag open so Derek could put the keys inside. Taping it closed, Scott signed the corner and handed it to Derek to do the same before handing it off to one of the techs with instructions to send a sample of the substance on the keys to the lab.

~

Tacking a picture to the board, Scott turned around to face the room. “Jacob Wilde, age thirty one.”

“Jesus fuck, what did he do to him?” Chris asked as he moved around the table to look closer at the crime scene photographs. “Are his intestines draped over his shoulder?”

“Looks like our guy has gone Jack the Ripper on us,” Boyd said from his seat. “Cause of death was the slashed throat? The mutilation was post mortem, right?”

“Yeah, his throat was cut, then the killer sliced along his lower abdomen, making a perpendicular cut all the way up to the vic’s ribcage. He then reached inside and pulled out the intestines, draping them over the left shoulder, before removing the stomach, liver and right kidney and placing them on the sidewalk next to the body,” Scott said as he taped each gruesome picture to the board as he talked. “According to Dr. Tate, the killer also mutilated the genitals. Not removing them, but it looks like he repeatedly stabbed them; some of the wounds are so deep it looks like the knife actually imbedded into the pelvis.”

“Shit.” Chris ran his hand over his face. “Tommy and his guys are going to be here the day after tomorrow. So right now, Hale, I want you to talk to Dr. Tate, see what else she’s found out on our body. McCall, you talk to Lydia, see if she can pick anything up on this guy, if she has had any visions she’s not said anything about. Boyd, I want you to go to our vic’s place and see what you can pick up from there. See what his link is to our other victims.”

With silent nods, the group packed up their files and left the room, leaving Chris to stare at a white board filled with pictures of dead bodies and not one lead on who was doing it.

~

Lydia stared at her easel, the canvas a mass of red and grey, a face barely visible in the swirling color. She put her brush down and looked around the room. Each of the canvases drying held the face of a victim, each victim looked like her. 

She sat on her stool, and stared down at her hands. 

She knew she was the last victim. She saw it. 

The killer would come for her soon.

~

He glared at his reflection in the mirror as he applied a bandage to the long, deep scratch on his neck. 

That guy got him good, must have been the keys. 

He shook his head and washed his hands. He glared at the photographs spread out on his bed. He knew that he had only one chance to get this right. He was going to prove once and for all that Lydia Martin was a fraud, that she couldn’t see the future. The only way to prove that would be to kill her. He had the perfect way to do it. 

He carefully checked over his tools and tucked them into their place in his bag.

Soon, he would do it soon.

~

Stiles tossed the loaf of bread into his basket and headed toward the next aisle when he felt a hand on his arm. Looking up, he raised an eyebrow. “Can I help you?”

“You know Lydia Martin?”

“Who wants to know?” Stiles pulled his shoulders back. He recognized this guy as the one that made Lydia uncomfortable, the one that none of the detectives liked. In fact, if he remembered right, Detective Boyd threatened to throw this guy down the stairs.

“Just an old friend.” The guy smirked as he reached out a hand to pet Stiles’s arm. “I like the tattoos.”

“Back off. Look, I don’t know what your angle is, but leave me alone.” Stiles pushed his cart down the aisle and toward the check out. He was putting his groceries in his car when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned around and the world went black.

~

Lydia startled so hard against the canvas she nearly punched her hand through it. Gasping for air, she dropped her brush and stumbled to the doorway. “Ally!”

Ally came out of her room, her cane thudding against the floor. “Lyds? What’s wrong?”

“He’s... It’s Stiles. Call Scott. He’s got Stiles!” Lydia said as she passed out, crumpling to the floor.

Ally pulled her phone from her pocket and hit speed dial number one. As soon as it was answered Ally was talking. “Scott! Scottie, you need to get here. Lyds saw something.”

 _”Okay, Ally. How bad is it?”_

“Bad, real bad. She passed out.” Ally settled on the floor next to Lydia, running her free hand through her sister’s hair. “Scottie, she said the guy has Stiles.”

 _”Shit,”_ Ally could hear Scott rustling around before the jingle of keys was heard and the slam of a door. _”Shit, okay. I’ll get Derek and I’ll be at your place in twenty.”_

Ally hung up and let her head fall back against the wall. “Lyds, wake up please.”

~  
_He could feel the cloth between his teeth as he pushed his tongue against it, trying to push it out of his mouth. The room was dark and cold. He was barefoot, the damp floor like ice against his feet._

_A noise to his left had him shifting, turning his head to see. The figure stood in the open doorway, the knife shining in his hand._

_“I bet you’re wondering why you?”_

_He nodded slowly, his head throbbing. The figure came closer, turning the knife between his fingers. Stopping in front of the chair, he crouched down, resting his elbow on a knee, a smirk cutting across his face._

_“Because Stiles, having you will bring them. If they come, **she** will come.” He leaned closer to Stiles’s face, the knife now point down on Stiles’s leg, the tip digging past the denim and starting on the flesh. “When she gets here, I can kill her like I’ve been planning. It’s going to be spectacular. A true masterpiece.”_

_Stiles narrowed his eyes and snorted around the gag. A rough hand grabbed his chin, forcing him to look into empty blue eyes. “Don’t scoff. My other pieces of art will be nothing compared to when I get to have her. It’s going to be amazing.”_

_Stiles closed his eyes and hoped they would all be safe. He had a really bad feeling about the end to this story._

~

Tommy set the files on the table in his hotel room and turned to look at Adam who was dropping his briefcase on the floor. Shrugging out of his jacket, Tommy tossed it on the end of the bed and reached back to loosen his shoulder holster as his phone started ringing. He grabbed it as someone knocked on the hotel room door. Motioning for Adam to get it, he answered his phone.

“Ratliff.”

_”Agent Ratliff, we need you now. The killer has Stiles.”_

“Sonofabitch.” Tommy grabbed his jacket and turned toward the door only to see Kris and Matt standing with Adam. “We’re on our way now.”

~

Derek stared down at the desk, his hands fisted on the file folders covering the top. He hadn’t said a word since Scott picked him up and told him that Stiles was missing. He started as a cup of coffee appeared in front of him. Looking up at the person attached to the hand holding the cup, he said, “SSA Ratliff.”

“Hey, you okay?” Tommy settled in the chair across from Derek.

“Not really.” Derek pushed his fedora back and rubbed his forehead. “I got too close didn’t I?”

“You tell me. Is your view of the case skewed? Are you making case decisions based on your feelings for him?” Tommy tapped his fingers on Derek’s files.

Derek shook his head. “No, but...”

“But what? You have feelings for him?”

“Yeah.” Derek blew out a breath and took a drink of the coffee.

“Good, I’m glad to know you aren’t a robot. SSA’s Giraud and Allen were sure you were created in a lab somewhere,” Tommy said with a chuckle. “Seriously though, having feelings for him doesn’t make you a bad cop. It makes you a real person, with real feelings.”

Derek snorted into his coffee. “I’m just worried now. It’s different than if he were just a colleague.”

“It’s more like Lydia and Detective McCall isn’t it?” Derek looked at Tommy suddenly. “How did I know? I didn’t become an FBI agent just because I look good in the suit.” Tommy tapped his head and with a chuckle he stood and walked over to the group of detectives and FBI agents gathered around the board full of pictures.

 

Derek stood up and walked over to the group. 

“...need to find out who this is.”

Lydia stared at each victim’s picture, the fingers on her right hand twitching. Coming to the picture of Jacob Wilde she stopped and tilted her head, her fingers going still as she touched the photo. “It’s Adrian.”

“What?!” Chris whipped around and stalked over to Lydia. “You’re telling me that this,” Chris waved his hand in front of the pictures, “was the work of a former detective.”

Lydia nodded. “He hates me.”

“He’s doing this for another reason. He hates you, so he’s killing people that look like you. But Stiles, he doesn’t. Why did he grab Stiles?” Tommy asked as he chewed on the corner of his thumb. As he walked along the board he noticed Ally sitting at Boyd’s desk. “Ally, why did he shoot you?”

Ally ran her hand over her face. “To get Lydia away from the cases. He thought that Lydia was a fraud. That I was feeding her clues to the cases. So to prove it, he shot me. Thinking that if Lydia was a _real psychic_ , she would have been able to prevent it.”

“But that’s not how it works for you is it, Lydia?” Tommy asked as he looked at Lydia, who shook her head.

“No, I see things that have already happened. With the rare occasion, as we saw with Sharon Manning, I see things before they happen. But even then it’s so vague I can’t do anything to prevent it.” Lydia ruffled her hand through her hair and looked at Scott. “Someone is going to die. I saw it.”

~

Stiles leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes. He could feel the blood on his jeans drying and making the fabric stiff against his skin. His fingers felt stiff and puffy from the bindings around his wrists. He barely felt the tears as they rolled down his face. He heard the door open and rolled his head against the wall to see Adrian standing there.

Stiles glared as Adrian walked closer. Huffing against the gag, Stiles tried to shrink away from hands as Adrian grabbed his arms and hauled him to his feet. “Come on, we have to get you cleaned up. You don’t want them to find you filthy, do you?”

Wincing at the biting grip on his arms, Stiles let Adrian lead him through the house to the bathroom. Stopping in the doorway, Stiles saw that the bathtub was full. Adrian pressed a hand to his back. “I’m going to untie you so you can take off your clothes.”

Stiles glared over his shoulder as Adrian began cutting the bindings around his wrists. He tried to shake the feeling back into his hands, but when he looked down he saw that they were puffy and streaked with blood from the cuts on his wrists. He tried to curl his fingers but they were so swollen, he couldn't bend them.

“Well, strip. You are filthy; I refuse to be with anyone filthy,” Adrian growled, shoving Stiles’ shoulder to get him to begin undressing.

“I can't. My hands,” Stiles held up his hands, showing Adrian that he couldn't move them to take off his clothing. He wanted to stall as long as he could. He knew what would happen if Adrian got his clothes off. He didn't want what happened to the other victims to happen to him. He didn't want Derek to find him like that.

Adrian inspected Stiles’ hands before turning and grabbing a pair of large shears from the counter. Stiles held back a shudder as Adrian began cutting up the legs of his jeans, drawing his hand up the revealed skin. Stiles could hear his breathing, Adrian’s breath fanning across the exposed skin as he moved up Stiles’ body. The final snip of the shears had the remnants of Stiles jeans falling to the floor, leaving him standing in his briefs and filthy shirt before Adrian.

“You are much prettier than the others. I might keep you for a while. You look like you mark up real nice.” 

Stiles closed his eyes as Adrian licked across his cheek. He refused to give Adrian what he wanted, but he couldn’t help the lone tear that leaked out and rolled down his cheek. He didn’t start when he felt the sharp point of the shears against his belly, slowly cutting up the front of his shirt, rough fingers pushing the material away.

“So pale. I am going to make you perfection,” Adrian mumbled to himself before he looked back at Stiles. “Get in the tub; you’re filthy.”

Stiles climbed into the tub slowly, trying not to use his hands. Once he was submerged in the warm water, he slowly let his hands sink, wincing at the sting. He could move his fingers now, so that was a good thing. He reached for the bar of soap and washcloth Adrian had left on the side of the tub. Slowly he washed the blood and dirt from his skin. He didn’t know how long he had been here, but it was long enough that he could feel the beginnings of withdrawal from the missed doses of his medication. His hands shook as he ran the washcloth over his skin. 

He knew that once he was clean, Adrian would be back. 

~

Derek watched as Lydia stood in front of a photograph of Stiles, now posted on the board with the other victims. Derek refused to think of Stiles as another victim. They were going to get him back alive.

“You will,” Lydia said quietly. 

“We will what?” Derek asked, not looking at the board anymore. He couldn’t stand seeing Stiles up there.

“Get him back alive. You will.” She smiled sadly at Derek. “It’s not Stiles he wants.”

“He won’t get you, Lyds,” Scott said vehemently as he came back in the room. 

“Scott’s right.” Derek stepped forward as the room began to fill with the rest of the team. “He won’t get you. We will get him and put him where he belongs.”

“Okay, we need to coordinate with the Emergency Response Team and Agent Ratliff and his team. We are going to hit all the places that we know Adrian likes to frequent.” Chris looked at Lydia, then back at the team. “We need to find Adrian, before he hurts Stiles.”

~

Derek clenched his jaw while Chris briefed them on the plan to get Stiles back. It was hard to sit back and listen to Chris talk about protocol and taking Harris alive. All Derek wanted to do was get Stiles back no matter what.

“Derek? Are you listening?” Chris asked coming to a stop in front of Derek, putting his hand on Derek’s shoulder.

Derek blinked at Chris and gave him a wan smile. “I’m sorry. What were you saying?”

“I was saying that you’re going to go in with Agent Ratliff and get Stiles out. Do not engage Harris, understand?”

Derek nodded. As much as he wanted to rip Harris apart, he knew that he had to leave it to others that weren’t emotionally tied to this. He understood that Chris could pull him and tell him to stay at home until they got Stiles back.

~

Stiles stood before Adrian, only a towel between his naked body and Adrian’s leering stare. He suppressed the shudder that rolled along his spine when Adrian circled him. Adrian ran a hand over Stiles’ lower back. 

“You know, I never brought the others here. But I knew that if I wanted to make this perfect, I had to end it here. She is the one that will finish this. But you, you will be the key to perfection. All the others were just tests. I had to see if this would work. Had to see if I could do this.” Adrian grabbed Stiles chin and turned his face to the side. “You know the surprising thing? It was easy. I thought that after shooting Ally, it would be hard to actually kill someone.”

Adrian laughed, grabbed his knife, and turned to Stiles, placing the blade just under his navel and pressed just enough to prick the skin, drawing a small drop of blood to the surface. “The hardest part was not killing everyone I came across. I had to make sure they were the perfect victim, they had to have the right look. Now, I have you and I’m almost finished.”

Stiles glared at Adrian before the room started to grey at the edges. Stiles felt the vision before he saw it. 

__

_Cold blue eyes stared down, a smirk gracing his face._

_Shock, blood, cold ground._

_Lydia crying, covered in blood._

__

Stiles gasped as his sight came back. He looked at Adrian and said the only thing he could. “You’re going to die.”

The sound of Adrian’s hand connecting to his face was loud in the nearly empty room. Stiles didn’t say another word; he watched as Adrian reached for his knife again. This time Adrian wasted no time in sticking it through Stiles’ shoulder, twisting it just enough to grind against the bone and make him scream out. 

“Don’t try your games with me. I know the truth; you’re both con artists. It’s just going to take me to show the others that you’re both frauds.” Stiles watched Adrian pace the room, muttering to himself. Stiles knew that if they didn’t find him soon, the only way they would find him would be in pieces.

~

_  
A single light overhead._

_An empty bed._

_Stiles._

_Blood._

_Screams._

_A gunshot._

__

Lydia sat up with a gasp, clasping her hand over her mouth. With tears in her eyes, she turned to Allison. “We need to find him. Now.”

~

The house was dark as they rolled up, blacked out so they would be undetected. Derek tightened the straps of his Kevlar vest. He made sure he had his sidearm at the ready and his borrowed M4 across his lap. The transport came to a jolting stop and the back doors opened, revealing Chris and Agent Ratliff, both geared up much like Derek and the others. 

“Listen up, we’re going in. Agent Ratliff has briefed the SWAT team and all of you. You will follow and will _not_ engage Harris, are we understood?” Chris whispered in the dark. Derek could hear the dull thudding that marked everyone nodding in agreement. “Good, everyone file out. We go in two minutes.”

~

Stiles huddled against the corner of the filthy mattress, a ratty, thin blanket his only cover, his vision blackened with a hood. He pulled the blanket tighter around him as soft, scraping sounds began over his head. They were consistent, almost rhythmic in nature. He grimaced at the pull of his open thigh wound as he tried to cover more of himself with the blanket. The basement room he was in was damp and cold. He could feel infection brewing in his leg, the fever light now, but would grow. But it was the smell that scared him the most. 

The sweet smell of rotting meat. He knew it wasn’t him. There was something, _someone_ else in the room with him. He knew that whatever, _whoever_ , it was, was no longer alive.

He started suddenly at the sudden loud cracking from overhead. He recognized the sounds of gunfire but there was hissing that he was unsure about, and he could hear footsteps outside the door. He attempted to make himself as small as possible for fear that it was Adrian outside the door. 

He could hear the door open and there were muffled footsteps that came closer to him, a sharp inhale and a hand came down on his shoulder. 

He curled into his blanket and hoped that Adrian would make his death quick.

~

Derek followed Scott into the darkened house. The smell hit him first. The rancid, sweet smell of rotting flesh. Through his mask, he could see a large blue barrel in the corner. Without even looking, he knew what he would find. 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Scott said, his voice muffled behind his gasmask. “It looks like Dahmer’s place in here.”

Boyd grunted from behind Derek. “Smells like a slaughterhouse.”

Derek’s eyes were wide as he really looked around the front room. He looked at the lamps; he could see that the shades were made of something like leather. As he got closer to them, he recoiled in horror when he realized they were not leather, but human skin. “That’s because it is a slaughterhouse.”

As they began to venture further into the house behind the rest, there was the telltale clang and hiss of a gas canister being tossed into a room and the thud, shuffle of the SWAT team going in after Adrian. Derek, Scott and Boyd headed toward the kitchen, checking open doors and bedrooms along the way.

Coming up empty, they stood in the kitchen and looked around. Derek spotted what looked like an uneven seam in the wall. Making his way over to it, he pulled out his flashlight and shined it at the seam; the light disappeared into the crack.

“Boyd, Scott. I think this is a door. Help me open it, or break the fucking wall,” Derek yelled, reaching for his all purpose tool to wedge into the crack. Between the three of them, they pried the hidden door open and were greeted with the overwhelming stench of death. Quietly, they made their way down the stairs and were blocked by yet another door. This one opened easily with a turn of the knob.

They quietly entered the room. Derek looked to his left and saw a horrifically decaying body propped in a chair. Chunks of flesh were missing from the thighs. Trying not to retch, Derek moved further into the room and stopped suddenly. 

On the bed in front of them was a body, looking much smaller than it should, head covered by a black sack. Derek moved forward, lifting a shaking hand to the shoulder of the body. He let out a breath when they moved.

He pulled off his own gas mask and reached out a hand to slowly remove the sack from their head. He let out a breath and choked out, “Stiles.”

~

_”Stiles”._

The sound of his name in a voice he never thought he would hear again had him lifting his head. He couldn’t make a sound, all he could do was reach a hand out and touch Derek’s face, his thumb slipping in the tears on his cheek. 

Stiles smiled wanly as Derek scooped him up and carried him out the door.

~

It had been six months since Derek helped rescue Stiles. Six months of therapy, nightmares and panic attacks. Things were getting better; they would never be normal. Not that they ever were normal, but they would never be the way they were before. 

Chris filled them in about what happened to Adrian the morning after Stiles was rescued. They found him in the farthest bedroom, a gun pointed at the door as they kicked it open. They tried to talk him into putting it down, but he kept screaming for them to bring him Lydia. He was manic and completely disconnected from reality. He kept calling her a banshee and was apparently convinced she was immortal and the only way to stop her was to kill her. He pointed his gun at Agent Ratliff and was shot by Chris. 

He was taken to the hospital and was now in a secure ward of the criminal hospital awaiting his arraignment. They would formally charge him after the medication they had him on brought him back to some semblance of reality.

Stiles looked over at where Derek was sleeping across the foot of the bed, his back bent at an uncomfortable looking angle from sitting in the chair next to the bed. Stiles couldn’t help but smile. 

He reached out a hand and carded his fingers through Derek’s hair. He wasn’t ready to take it any further than where they were at now. But eventually, eventually he would get the one vision he was never afraid of seeing.

__

_“Daddy! Piggyback!”_

_Big green eyes and tiny bunny teeth with a button nose._

_Derek with a tiny, brown haired girl on his back._

_Stiles happily cradling a tiny boy._

_Peace._

_Happiness._

_Family.  
_


End file.
